


Pomegranate Seeds

by orphan_account



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-01
Updated: 2009-01-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 08:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15385287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Originally posted on the short-lived Squaresoft kink meme. Scarmiglione commands Rosa heal him.





	Pomegranate Seeds

His hulking figure arched over her, his eyes from underneath the ragged hood boring down, eating at her as maggots ate at him. Scarmiglione stank of death and dying, things lying rotten under the earth and left there, soaking in the mud and dirt until they were as brown as the things surrounding them.

“He's not coming for you.” Putrid breath hissed out of something too deformed to be called a mouth as he spoke. Rosa winced, shied away, but his hands caught her, forcing her closer, wrapping her in his tattered cloak.

He ran his hands up her body, starting at the waist, slowly drawing over her clothed breasts to her neck, her face. He dipped a finger into her mouth, pushing harder when she resisted, making a satisfied noise at the feeling of having one small part of him surrounded in warmth, living. “Heal me,” he commanded, grabbing her wrist with his other hand, drawing her palm forward to touch his stomach, run underneath his clothing to touch his failing flesh.

Rosa hesitated, eyes darting from one side to the next (there really was no way out of this; she was alone) before doing as commanded, closing her eyes to concentrate. Scarmiglione gasped at the sensation of energy flowing into him through his abdomen, cool, soothing. His grip on her wrist tightened and she cried out, faltering.

“Don't stop!” He growled, not loosening his grip, pressing her palm tighter into his stomach.

His fingers eased out of her mouth and returned to her chest, unbuttoning her blouse to feel the tender living flesh of her breasts. He fumbled, careless, kneading her breasts with the desperation of a man who hadn't held a woman in years.

Scarmiglione was warming, his body stinging from his chest to his groin, his cock which had been flaccid and limp for years stirring at Rosa's energy. He dragged her wrist down past the hem of his breeches to touch it, feel it, feel the life she had given him.

Rosa began trembling as soon as he brought her wrist down, but she curled her fingers around his member nonetheless, feeding healing and warmth into it. She couldn't hate him – she could only pity him, pity his desperation and his helplessness as his body crumbled around him. She could help him, maybe she was the only one who could help him –

Scarmiglione began rolling his hips into her palm, his hand letting go of her wrist and covering his hand with hers, pressing, needy. His other hand wandered to her belt, attempting to undo the clasps there before ripping them off in frustration, taking her loincloth soon after. 

With this new life that had been given him, this new energy, he began to remember the fire he had once felt as a young man. This woman was it, this was what he needed – he had only to make her his, to be joined with her, and he could be everything he had thought lost.

He released his clasp on her hand and withdrew her grip by the wrist, taking her other wrist as he took her down, kneeling as he pressed her to the ground, holding her beneath him.

“Rosa....” he hissed, his tongue snaking out to lick her from neck to cheek, moving to her lips to capture them in a toothless embrace. He held her wrists with one hand as the other traveled down to her groin, sliding between her legs to feel the warm wetness there. She was living, she was perfect. “I'm going to make you my wife.”

Rosa's eyes widened in shock and she struggled for a moment, straining against her captor, but he held her down with his body, straddling her, his mottled cloak pooling on either side as he lifted her legs for his entrance.

She cried out when he entered her, rough, all at once, and Scarmiglione couldn't control himself – it had been too long, she was too tight around him and he moaned his pleasure as he thrust in and out of her.

The sounds coming out of Rosa's mouth morphed from pain into pleasure, and he released her wrists, grasping her fleshy hips with both hands as he pounded into her, feeling her, wanting her even more. Rosa's hands scrabbled at the ground as she arched, thighs tensing, exposed breasts heaving. Every inch of her was beating with life and blood, pounding in his ears and in his cock. 

Scarmiglione came with a growl, sending his dead seed into her as his hips pumped their final erratic thrusts. He slid out of her and released her hips, crawling along her body as he kissed her stomach, breasts, neck, mouth. “We are one,” he whispered in her ear.


End file.
